He was a little knot
of muscle, short and bow-legged, rough in appearance as cactus. He wore a
ragged slouch-hat pulled low down. His face and stubby beard were
dust-colored, and his eyes seemed sullen, watchful. He made Bostil think of a
dusty, scaly, hard, desert rattlesnake. Bostil eyed this right-hand man of
Cordts's and certainly felt no fear of him, though Sears had the fame of swift
and deadly skill with a gun. Bostil felt that he was neither afraid nor loath
to face Sears in gun-play, and he gazed at the little horse-thief in a manner
that no one could mistake. Sears was not drunk, neither was he wholly free
from the unsteadiness caused by the bottle. Assuredly he had no fear of Bostil
and eyed him insolently. Bostil turned away to the group of his riders and
friends, and he asked for his daughter.
"Lucy's over there," said Farlane, pointing to a merry crowd.
Bostil waved a hand to her, and Lucy, evidently mistaking his action, came
forward, leading one of her ponies. She wore a gray blouse with a red scarf,
and a skirt over overalls and boots.
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